


Bouquet

by TheAzureFox



Category: Library of Ruina (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, I promise I'll provide better Angeland food after this, lmao i can't believe this is gonna be the first Angela/Roland fic, somewhat updated with name but im lazy lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26518132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAzureFox/pseuds/TheAzureFox
Summary: Rose are redViolets are blueHis wife is deadIt's time to move on
Relationships: Angela (Lobotomy Corporation)/Roland (Library of Ruina), Roland/Angelica
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Bouquet

**Author's Note:**

> I am surprised my first fanfic for Ruina is Roland/his mysterious wife and not Roland/Angela (my OTP for this series, ngl) but tbf I AM writing a huge Angela/Roland fanfic in the background (30+ pages in size 12 font/~13,000 words atm,,,) this one just came first ‘cause it’s shorter.
> 
>  ~~Also, when we get Roland’s wife’s name I’ll update this fanfic with her name because I admit,,, it gets a little bit hard to talk about her when all I’ve got is a vague description of her that might not even be accurate~~ lmao Angelica says hi

For all of his life, Roland has been miserable.

Happiness is but a fleeting emotion when the world is constantly out to kick you in the gut. From the moment he was borne, his life has been nothing but a series of hells fraught with cruel, fluttering moments of happiness. When he was born, he was born abandoned by parents whose faces he couldn’t remember seeing. They’d left him in the care of his grandmother, whose kindness raised him until he was a youth fighting tooth and nail in the backstreets and then who left him alone when he was barely capable of fending for himself.

From there, he’d worked himself up towards Fixer life, alone but with a passion for fighting in his blood. Inspired by tales of great Fixers and do-good heroes like the Red Mist, he’d taken up life in an Office in order to find a perfect balance between purpose and survival.

Fixer life, for all that it was worth, was fine. You were always under the control of someone else but, as long as you had the strength to survive and pull your weight to a promotion, it wasn’t anything to worry about.

Roland knew this quite well. It was why he’d taken up Fixer life in the first place. He was strong, strong enough to survive the troubles sent his way while in an Office, and it wasn’t long before he’d got promoted from a Grade 9 to a Grade 8.

Grade 8, coincidentally, was when he met _her_.

~~~

An office littered with paperwork, the smoke of cigarettes, and the faint reek of alcohol.

Roland enters this office with hesitance, lacking in expectations yet nervous enough that he’s been swallowing three times every minute since entering.

Luckily or not, it seems he’s not alone in this manner. Beside him, looking just as uncomfortable as he feels, is a young woman. She’s the type to catch people’s eyes, with long white hair, muscles showing in her bare arms, and a sense of confidence that is only marred by the way she rubs her rightmost shoulder, clearly anxious but smiling with a strong confidence.

They’ve been standing together side-by-side for a couple of minutes now, shuffling and fidgeting with an expectation for a meeting, and it seems neither of them have the nerve to speak to each other. Roland’s not trying to do it intentionally - rather, he’s kind of intimidated by her presence, unable to speak a word - but he admits he feels kind of like an asshole for doing nothing.

“Uh.” A single sound, spoken from beside him. He turns to look, flustering as the woman turns her attention to him, smiling awkwardly. “Hello there. Are you...new like me?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty fresh.” He rubs the back of his neck, returning her awkward smile with his own. “Just got made a Grade 8.”

“Really? Me too!” Her voice is filled with relief punctuated by a tinge of high-pitched laughter. “I mean, well,” she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “I only just got appointed to this office myself. Former boss thought I should get a promotion after taking on an Urban Legend case.”

“Urban Legend?” He whistles. “Whew. I’ve only ever finished Urban Myths myself. How’d you manage such a feat?”

“A few lucky hunches,” her smile crystallizes into something less nervous and more prideful. “I figured some things out, more or less, and managed to take down some crooks who were cooking up trouble.”

“What kind of crooks?”

“Cannibals out causing trouble,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders. “A whole clan of them, at that.”

“Did you take them out all by yourself?” He can’t keep the awe from his voice as he talks.

“‘Course I did. All on my own, too.” She raises her chin, looking even more proud of herself. Somehow, he likes that about her. “It was a bit tricky, too. I got backed into a corner but I held them all off! I’m quite capable, like that!”

“Sounds like you’re bragging,” he says, half in sincerity and half in tease.

“Maybe a little,” she says. She raises her hands. “I’ll admit I had backup, after all.”

He chuckles, holding out a hand. “Roland.”

She takes it, stars in her eyes.

"Angelica," she says.

Her name leaves her lips with a woosh. It’s a simple name - perhaps as common as any name in the Backstreets, in the Nests, etc. - but it makes something inside him beat with a fondness.

“Looking forward to working with you!” She says, kindness in her voice and a bounce in her step.

“Yeah,” he says, unable to stop himself from smiling as he continues with: “Can’t wait to work with you, too.”

~~~

Work as a Grade 8 Fixer is no different than work as a Grade 9 Fixer. Sure, maybe the tasks assigned to them are more serious, but the requests given to them are still ninety percent “find my lost cat” and ten percent “actually do something important”.

It’s exhausting, perhaps even annoying. Roland’s certain of his strength. If given the chance, he’s sure he can best a couple of Urban Legends, maybe even an Urban Plague if he’s arrogant. Yet here he is, still stuck combing through bushes for Ms. Rose’s lost kitten and reluctantly sniffing around parks and city streets for runaway teenagers.

His partner in crime, however, seems to think little of the tasks assigned to them. Rather, she takes them with enjoyment, always listening to their client’s jabber with enthusiasm and finishing their missions with an enjoyment he wishes he could have.

Roland gets so curious about how she could stand the unimportant tasks sent their way, how she can deal with knowing that her talent as a Fixer is being put to waste, and her answer was:

“I want to help people.”

Angelica had said it with a shy smile, perhaps thinking it embarrassing to admit something so idealistic, but there was a passion in her voice that was elusive yet noble.

“Help people?” He’d ask, incredulous yet curious all the same.

“Yeah. Even if we’re given stuff that seems stupid, like helping someone find their lost dog, I can’t help but think of the bigger picture.”

“Which is?”

She’d rolled her eyes at his scoffing tone, jabbing him with her elbow. “By finding that lost dog or helping a child find their way to their parent, we’re doing some good and making someone’s day. By helping others, we’re bringing some happiness to this rotten world.”

“That’s...optimistic.”

She’d snorted: “Hush you cynicist!” and had gone to ruffle his hair, careless of the distressed whine he’d soon sent in her direction.

It surprised him, perhaps, that the woman who worked at his side as a nobody Grade 8 Fixer was content with her job. Even as she griped alongside him about longing for a chance to shed blood, she was still happy with the tasks sent their way, enjoying them to their fullest as if disregarding their unimportance in the grand scheme of life.

Unlike him, who was discontent with his skills being put to waste, she was making peace with it, hoping for better but dealing with the hand they’d been dealt in life.

~~~

Pajeon.

There are plates and plates of pajeon.

Roland has...many questions.

Namely, why there are three plates of pajeon on his desk and why his companion has several plates stacked in front of her.

“Hey, Roland!” She greets him like she normally would, a smile on her face as she shoves a piece of pajeon in her mouth.

“Hey uh...what’s with the pajeon paradise?”

“Oh, this.” She huffs. “I ordered a little too much, as you can see.”

“A little?” He raises his eyebrows, taking a seat at his desk and pushing around the plates on his desk with a pen.

“Okay, maybe a lot. But, look, I’m sharing!”

He scowls at her. “I don’t think I can eat all this, y’know.”

“Maybe not in one go but...you can always give it to me if you want.”

“What are you, a pajeon fanatic?”

“...No.”

He’d laughed. “So yes, in other words?”

“Shut up.” She’d grabbed another piece of pajeon, shoved it in her mouth, and looked away, flashing a guilty look. “I just wanted to splurge on pajeon for a little bit, that’s all.”

“Even with our meager salaries?”

“It’s not like saving our money’s gonna do much. Inflation’s a bitch. By the time we get out next paychecks, I’m probably only going to be able to afford three of these.”

“That’s just enough for you, me, and the boss.” He pauses. “In other words, the perfect amount.”

“No it’s not!” Angelica had jumped out of her seat, slamming her hands on her desk. “You can _never_ have enough pajeon!”

He’d remembered jumping in surprise at the suddenness of her movements, stunned by the throe of passion summoned by the mention of not enough pajeon.

“Ha...you really love your pajeon, don’t you?”

“It’s the best.” She’d said, almost too proudly. “Seriously. If I ever go on a date with a guy, if he doesn’t like pajeon, it’s over!”

He’d laughed at that. “Looks like you’re going to be swimming in pajeon for your wedding.”

She’d giggled at that, amusement clear on her face, but there was a fond look on her face, almost distant. And, as he began to eat into the pajeon oh-so-generously presented to him, he couldn’t help the feeling that his coworker’s gaze was lingering on him for far too long after that.

~~~

Blood.

There’s so much blood.

Roland grits his teeth, bites his bottom lip, tastes metal and then spits it out.

He staggers, his legs trembling, and leans against the walls. His breath is ragged, blood is staining his shoulder, his chin, his head, and he’s feeling like he could collapse at any moment. There’s an arrow on his shoulders, several cuts on his arms, and a falter in his step as his knees fall on concrete.

“ _Dammit_ ,” he hisses.

Everything hurts. A lot. He’s nauseous and he can barely keep his eyes open.

“Roland.”

A voice, distant.

“Roland!”

A scream, panicked. It rings in his ears, vibrating with a passion.

“Roland!”

He feels groggy. Sleepy. Even with the pain biting at him, he’s turning numb with the need to sleep.

“Roland, wake up!”

Fingers curl into his shoulders, stinging. There’s a whiff of someone’s breath on his face, the sound of words in his ears. He feels himself being shaken, feels his body strain itself to maintain consciousness even when exhaustion bears down upon him, when his eyes are peeled open by cold fingertips and a vision enters his gaze.

A curtain of white hair, drifting. Warmth against his skin, a face against his own.

“You idiot,” his partner says, gripping him close to her chest as she rummages through the bag on her hip. “Stay with me here or I swear to god I’ll end you myself.”

He manages a weak snort. She unrolls a spool of banadages, ripping it with her teeth and applying it to his arm. He flinches, feeling a rush of fresh pain, but his partner’s firm hand on his chest keeps him from flailing too much.

“Careful,” Angelica says, whispering the words against his ear as she ties the bandage in place. She pulls back, checking her work, before she dabs at the blood on his cheeks with a towel.

“Are you...sure you should be doing this right now…?”

“I took care of those crooks, if that’s what you’re worrying about. They’re all dead now. What’s more important right now is you.”

“Didn’t think you cared about me that much.”

She scowls at him, rubbing the towel a bit too harshly against his forehead. He winces, whining, and she rolls her eyes.

“Crybaby,” she huffs.

“Mean-hearted,” he retorts.

“Rude.”

“Could say the same of you.”

“Hush.” She nudges one of his arms onto her shoulders, urging him to his feet. He leans against her, struggling to push himself upwards. Yet, with the support of his partner and the nearby wall, he manages to come to a stand.

“Can you walk?” His companion asks him.

“I think so.” He winces as he takes a step forward. “Though, I wouldn’t mind you carrying me like a princess, either.”

He says his last words as a joke to ease the mood but he doesn’t expect her to, quite literally, swing him up into her arms. If he wasn’t in a state of constant pain, perhaps his face would’ve flushed red from such an act. Instead, tired and almost groggy, he curls closer to his companion, careless about personal boundaries in his need for comfort.

If his companion feels uncomfortable, however, she doesn’t speak her mind on it. Instead, she dutifully carries him forward, moving step by step as if his weight is nothing.

“You don’t actually have to carry me, y’know,” he says after a few minutes. “I must be pretty heavy.”

“‘S fine,” she shakes her head, stubbornly continuing forward. “You’re as light as a paperweight.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, you’re as heavy as an elephant. Happy?”

He rolls his eyes.

~~~

Recently Roland...has been feeling things.

Weird things. Strange things. Like his heart beating too erratically, his palms growing sweaty, and his face turning red.

The main cause?

His partner in crime, the lovely lady who sits at the desk beside him and who praises pajeon like it’s a new god of sorts.

He doesn’t know exactly when he began nurturing a crush or how it happened. All he knows is that his head is suddenly full of thoughts of her and that he suddenly wants to be close with her if at all possible.

This starts with small gestures. Offering her a plate of pajeon after a stressful day of work or buying her a new pen when hers runs out of ink. It escalates to more gestures, like asking to take walks in the park or offering to try out the (non human delicacy) restraurants.

He’s a bit hopeless, in this way, vying for the attention of his coworker with gestures that he knows are going to find no reciprocation. Still, his heart can’t help but yearn for her attention, her touches, her smiles and her kindness turned in his direction. He’s been craving to know more about her, from her family life to her likes and dislikes, to what would make her the happiest in the world. He wants to get closer to her, to hold her hand and kiss her and do...whatever lovey-dovey couples do.

His companion, for her part, seems not to bat an eye at his fond gestures. She acts as she always does, bantering with him for fun and working alongside him on the missions sent their way, and still shares her cigarettes with him while basking in the morning light of dawn.

It’s a bit heart-aching, in a way, to not know if his actions are making an impact on her. He wishes he could just be upfront about his feelings, saying “I love you” the way men do in cheesy romcom flicks. He’s tried, oh he’s tried. The confession has been on the tip of his tongue for weeks on end and he’s been dying to say it in hopes of letting his feelings all out and on the table. But, every time he’s come close to saying it, every time he’s felt like taking her hand and confessing his heart out, he’s found himself cowering at the wrong moments, unable to take the last step to test the waters.

It sucks. Terribly. He feels nothing but heartache, longing for the chance he can confess and maybe (hopefully) get Angelica's attention.

~~~

Angelica's moving Offices.

“It’s so sudden,” she says, voice in a rush, “one moment I was talking to a Fixer in a Grade 6 Office and in the next I was suddenly offered a promotion to work for her.”

“Wow,” he says, “really?”

“Yeah! She’s higher-up in the food chain, too and is pretty willing to adopt me as her pupil.” There are stars in her eyes as she tells this to him before she suddenly deflates and avoids his gaze. “But I guess...this means we won’t see each other much.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, quickly. “You’ve been waiting for a promotion forever now. You deserve it.”

She suddenly frowns at that, as if somehow displeased by his words. He mirrors the look on her face, tilting his head in inquiry, before she shakes her own and nods to his words. “You’re right,” she fiddles with a strand of her hair. “I have been waiting for this for a while. It’s just…”

“Just…?”

“Well, I thought you’d be coming with me.”

“Looks like that won’t be the case.”

“You’ll catch up.” She responds. Stubbornly. “You’re just as good as me. Even if I skip two grades ahead, we’ll see each other again.”

“Promise?” He asks.

“Promise.”

~~~

Work as a Fixer is dull without his partner.

The days grow tedious without her presence, a monotony of slaying crooks on the street and protecting those with enough cash to hire him. He continues work as a Grade 8 Fixer for a little while, before slowly graduating from a Grade 7 to a Grade 6. Each promotion feels a little bit empty without a celebratory cigarette shared with his crush and each job feels a little soul-less without the expectation of collapsing at her side for a mid-work nap.

He thought he’d be able to get over her, that his crush would subside with time and he’d find something else to fill the void of his life.

But time is a cruel bitch and Roland’s crush keeps kicking him in the ass.

Example A: Meeting his former companion on a Urban Plague case.

After being sent to investigate a strange string of disappearances concerning a child kidnapping case, he’d bumped into the lady on his mind who had, coincidentally been investigating the same thing.

“Roland,” she’d breathed in surprise upon finding him in the lobby of the Office that had called him on the case.

“Hey,” he’d responded softly, just as surprised to cross paths with her. “How’s life treating you?”

“Peachy. You?”

“Just as good.”

He’d smiled awkwardly. She only laughed, twisting a piece of hair around her fingers the way she did when she was nervous. The feeling was mutual. He felt like he couldn’t say a single word without potentially erupting into a stuttering mess.

“I’m here investigating the disappearance of a client’s little girl,” she’d told him after a moment’s pause. “Seems the child was playing with her friends one moment and gone the next in a game of hide and seek. Some freaks in star-covered hoodies were apparently hanging around just moments before.”

“Ah...My office got a case similar to that, too.”

“What they’d send you out to fix? Another lost child?”

“A pair of boys, yeah. We’re looking into their kidnappers too. Reckon they must be one and the same if both of our Offices are collaborating on the case.”

“Seems that way,” she’d nodded. Then, she had looked at him, something indescribable in her expression as she’d added: “It’s nice seeing you again. Wanna...get some pajeon after this case is said and done?”

“It’s a date,” he’d agreed. Before pausing. And flustering. “I-I mean...I’d totally...I’d like to...yeah I’d like that.”

“Dork,” she’d responded with a casual punch of his shoulder.

“Pajeon fanatic,” he’d teased back, gleeful even as they were quickly called to order.

And, ah, how absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder. Even as his boss explained the details of his case, Roland found his gaze kept drifting to the white-haired woman who’d captured his heart.

Example B: While celebrating the conclusion of a month-long manhunt, Roland’s boss at the time had had the brilliant ( _brilliant_ ) idea of gathering all the offices in the local area out to a bar for some drinks using the money that had just been earned.

Frankly, Roland had expected the other offices to be too busy to comply. They were all of higher ranks - Grades 4 and 3 to his current office’s Grade 5 - and were usually too snooty to think of enjoying anything with anyone.

However, the sound of free booze must’ve been pretty tempting. After receiving the invites, several offices agreed at once to join in, even requesting the allowance of employees to attend. Roland’s boss, being a merry socialite of a drunkard, had agreed eagerly, even getting Roland to agree on joining in the festivities.

For what it was worth, Roland was only in it for the alcohol. He had a fondness for the stuff and despite its bitter, acrid taste he was absolutely a fan of it. Sure, he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to socializing with the other Fixers (especially if said Fixers were to...oh...up and die one day) but chugging down mugs of alcohol seemed worth the price.

Of course, if he had known the true extent of who was coming that day, perhaps he wouldn’t have drowned himself in booze the moment he got to the local tavern. But socializing is a bitch and he’s a much better talker while drunk so by the time he realizes what a mistake it is to be drunk he’s already feeling warm inside and talking up a storm of slurred words and inebriated thoughts.

“Roland?”

Someone comes to his side, speaking in a voice that he feels like should be familiar but his bubbling brain keeps him from recognizing.

“Yes, m’am?” He asks, turning his wobbling body in the direction of the sound. Then, he freezes. The sight before him is enough to sober him up for a moment’s glance, but only a moment. “Ahhhh,” he exhales, “hello there. You’re uhhhh, you’re still looking fine as always.”

The woman who he knows as his former coworker, his friend, and his crush raises her eyebrows at him as she sits alongside him. “Are you drunk?”

“Maaaybe.” He sips from his mug, enjoying the taste on his tongue. “Want a drink? I can order.”

“Already got one,” she lifts a glass.

He immediately clanks his against hers and she scowls at him.

“Good, good,” he sips, half for courage, half to ease the silence that follows. “Say...you look really beautiful today.”

He says it while fully meaning it, unable to stop himself from staring at her. There’s a flush to her cheeks - probably from the drink and not from his words - and perhaps if he was much more sober he wouldn’t be so obvious. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, draped alongside her backside while her outfit is merely a sweater paired with some jeans. She looks absolutely radiant. So much so that he almost wants to kiss her for it. But, doesn’t. He’s not _that_ drunk, after all.

“Thank you, Roland,” her voice is sweet, like musical notes chittering from a windchime. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

He knows she probably doesn’t mean anything by it but the drunken part of his brain takes pride in that. He beams, raising his glass, and this time she clinks hers against his own, looking amused at his surprised expression.

“Work doing you good?” she asks, sipping from her glass.

“It’s fine. Pretty boring without…” he stops himself. “It’s just pretty boring. You?”

“Same here. I miss our little escapades into parks and stuff.” Her voice is whimsical. “It used to be so romantic when it was just you and I sitting side-by-side on a kiddy slide.”

He nods. “Yeah, that was pretty fun.”

“Too bad we’re always moving to separate offices.”

“Mm. It feels lonely without you.”

She bumps her elbow with his own. “Tease.”

“I’m not lying though,” he whines, sinking his head onto the wood of the bar in front of him. “Life sucks without you around.”

He probably should have stopped there. Probably should’ve just switched the subjects and moved on to something less embarrassing. Instead, however, his drunken brain sees her face swimming in his vision and all he can do in his state is reach for her hand. He takes it, expecting a rejection of some sort, but when she merely looks at him in fondness, he keeps his hold.

“I miss being with you,” he murmurs. “I miss hearing you laugh. You were the light of my day. I don’t even care if I’m being cheesy. I would probably kiss you right now if given the chance but I’m...well I’m an idiot. I’ve got this huge crush on you and can hardly confess about it.”

After that, he feels himself growing sleepy. The fact that he’s just confessed to his one and only crush is hardly on his mind. Instead, he feels light-headed, almost airy, and he can hardly recognize the fact that his hand is being cupped by another as something light tickles his head.

“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” he hears a voice that sounds familiar to his crush’s in his ears. “Come on now, let’s get you home.”

~~~

Ever since the party at the tavern, Roland’s gotten the feeling he’s said something he shouldn’t. Though he hasn’t seen his crush since the party, there’s a lingering feeling of unease in the back of his mind whenever he thinks about her.

He’s sure he’s said something stupid. Overly drunk him was like that sometimes. In order to cope with the annoyance of socialiting, he’d drink more than his fair share in order to gain enough liquid courage to power through the night. Apparently, however, doing such a thing must’ve been a mistake. Especially if he feels afraid to face his crush yet again.

As luck would have it, however, they don’t cross paths for quite some time.

As luck would not have it, however, in half a year’s time the unpredictable happens.

“You’re being promoted to a grade 2,” his boss tells him, dumping a cigarette into an ashtray. “Your recent work on that Urban Nightmare class got you the attention of a highly-ranked Fixer. Says she wants you in her office.”

“Really?” He asks.

“Yeah, no doubts about it. She’s a good gal, too. Has a lovely lady working under her wing. Part of the recommendation came from that lady. Reckon you know her?”

Roland’s heart wavers for a little bit as he repeats the name of his crush out loud, questioning if maybe, possibly, the employee in question is her.

“You got it right. Guess you do know her after all.”

“I do. I just...was pretty sure I said some stupid stuff to her.”

“Stupid?”

“Like confessing my love for her.”

His boss suddenly snorts. “In this world, confessing your love for someone should be considered a luxury.”

“...Pardon?”

“You won’t get it now, but you will soon.” His boss shuffles him around, moving him towards the exit door of the office. “Love is a scarce thing around here. Consider yourself lucky if that lady of yours tolerates ya. Because one day, she may be there for you, the next she might be stabbing a knife into your neck or dying in the streets.”

“She’s not like that. She wouldn’t die so easily, either.”

“That’s what everyone ‘round here says. All the youth have some kind of immortality complex because of it. But lemme tell you, the City ain’t kind to those who think they’ve got their stars aligned in the sky. Many a couple has found themselves tossed into despair because of the City’s cruelty.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” Roland says. “For all I know, she doesn’t even like me back.”

“Cynical as always, I see.” His boss laughs. “Keep that about you, always. You’re gonna need it to survive when everything goes downhill.”

On that ominous note, Roland leaves one office and heads to another.

~~~

He arrives to his new workplace with sweaty palms and a nervousness normally unbecoming of him.

Roland’s not sure what he expects, standing outside the office of his new workplace, hand drifting on a wooden handle. Does he expect his crush to be inside, looking at him with pity in her eyes? Does he expect that she’ll avoid his gaze, impacted severely by whatever god forsaken words he’s accidentally slipped loose? If he had really confessed to her, was he prepared for a rejection straight to his face and a disgusted gaze lingering on his back?

The man scratches the back of his neck. “Well...I work here now. Better get used to it.” He mutters to himself, pushing the door open and accepting his fate.

Inside the new office, Roland catches the aroma of coffee and squints at the bright light that floods his vision overhead. He raises a hand to shield his eyes from the brilliance, needing to adjust his gaze, before he hears an all-too-familiar voice enter his ears.

“Roland!”

He blinks, vision adjusting to the sight of someone he knows all too well. He stiffens, watching as she approaches, and finds himself started when she takes his hands, warmth in her gaze and a dazzling smile on her face.

“I, uh, hi,” he says, restraining the blush he feels growing on his face by coughing into a closed fist.

“Hey, it’s been a while, huh?” She drags him forward and into the center of the office, moving past cubicles full of staring people and a woman dressed in purple watching them in amusement. “How long has it been since we’ve worked together?”

“Years,” he breathes, tuning out the sight of everyone around him to focus in on _her_. “Didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to work with you again.”

“Me neither,” she admits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I’m glad you’re here! This office is the best. You’ll finally get to do some fun stuff here as a Grade 2 Fixer!”

“Sure hope so,” he grins. His nerves are eating into him, making him on-edge, but the look his friend is giving him, familiar and warm, is enough to make him feel as if he probably (hopefully) hasn’t confessed anything horrible. “Hey uh...since it’s been so long, would you...would you like to go eat some pajeon with me?”

There’s a whistle from the purple-haired lady whose watching them. The woman in front of him scowls in her direction, cheeks reddenning, but the look she gives Roland - with eyes sparkling and a smile already stretching from ear to ear - seems to be enough to distract her.

“I would love that, Roland. After work, you and me, there’s something I’ve got to talk to you about.” She looks at those around her. “ _Alone_ and _away_ from prying ears.”

He raises his eyebrows, feeling his heart falling in his chest at the possible meaning of those words. Something to talk about? Alone? Is it possible that she’s going to let him down gently, to deny whatever nonsense that’s slipped from his mouth and pretend like drunk him was just an act to wipe away?

He doesn’t know if he’s truly confessed to her or not, but he gets the feeling in his heart that a confession is all there is to talk about between her and him. It’s the only thing he could think of that he would say that would leave him gnawing his mind in fear, the only thing he could think to feel that would ruin the camaraderie they shared. Not to mention the fact that she wanted to talk about it in private...he couldn’t help but feel a little paranoid.

“Sure,” he says even still. “I’d like that.”

~~~

The place they go to is a little wagon shop with tables to sit at and a park full of kids next door. It’s a rambunctious place, full of parents herding their children around and several dozen paper plates scattered like leaves across unpaved streets of grass and gravel. Personally, it’s a bit too loud for Roland’s tastes, a bit too cheery and a bit too full of unfortunate opportunity to strike at any moment.

“Relax,” his crush tells him, a hand on his shoulder as if to soothe away the tightening tension coiling up in his muscles. “No one’s gonna put a sword to your throat here. This place is run by the Thumb. If anyone tries to pull a murder here, they’re gonna get themselves gruesomely tortured.”

“...Reassuring,” he says after a pause, letting his friend guide him with three plates of pajeon in her hands to a nearby bench.

He takes a seat, ignoring the wads of gum protruding from the underside of chipped stone and the spray of blood red graffiti that etches the scene of a person dying on horizontal surface. His plate rests on the decapitated head, a circle of pajeon obscuring the gruesome gouged-out eyeballs and gush of blood that trickles upwards from the severed neck.

“Some interesting artwork here,” he says in passing, raising his eyebrows while trying to hide behind the nervous smile he must be wearing.

“You get used to it. Stuff gets scrubbed every month or so. Doesn’t keep it from coming back but at least you get to see something new every time.” His friend is already digging into her slices of pajeon, monopolizing three plates for herself as she gorges.

“I see,” he pokes at his own food, before digging in. He bites down, enjoying the flavor of taste that comes with it, before he realizes his friend is staring. He gulps, pausing in his food to face her. “So...about what you wanted to talk about…?”

“Ah. That.” She pauses in her eating, casting her gaze downwards. “Well...do you remember that office party we were both at?”

He does. All too well. “I do.”

“Well do you...remember what you said?”

He averts his gaze as she turns her own to him. “I...um...probably said some stupid shit then, right?”

The voice of his companion sounds notably disappointed. “In other words, you don’t remember?”

“I...no.” He swallows, closing his eyes shut before opening them and facing her. He’s surprised to see that her face is stoic, closed off from the emotions she normally shows as her gaze holds his. “If I said something that’s irredeemable, you can feel free to slap me. I’ve got the feeling that I said something pretty dumb that night.”

She stares a little more. Then, holds her head in her hands, sighing rather loudly. He raises his eyebrows, concerned, before she removes her hands to stare at him.

“Roland...gods, what am I going to do with you.”

“...Excuse me?”

She makes a noise that sounds like she wants to die. “I’m in love with you.”

Roland also makes a noise that sounds like he wants to die. “You are?”

“You really don’t remember confessing to me, do you?”

“ _No?_ ”

She shakes her head, reaches across the table to grab his hands, and stares him directly in the eyes. “Roland, you confessed to me you loved me - granted while drunk - but I’ve known you long enough to tell you were telling the truth then. So I’m answering your confession with my own: I love you.”

“Oh god.”

For what it’s worth, both of their faces are burning bright red at the moment.

For what it’s worth, Roland feels like spontaneously combusting.

After a moment’s pause, he asks: “Should I like...get a ring or something?”

And the laughter that follows is totally worth it. “Please do.”

~~~

Dating his best friend and crush is probably the best thing in the world.

Not much changes but it’s the fact that he’s by her side now, kissing her cheek and holding her hand, that really gets him. He can finally be close to her without having a guilty conscience, can frolic the streets at her side and nuzzle her in the light of the moon as they eat pajeon and watch cheesy romcoms together.

While nothing changes much work-wise (aside from the occasional cheers whenever they kiss and the teasing jabs sent in his direction about his luck with the love gods) their daily lives together are filled with plans of how to improve their lives together.

“I’m thinking retirement,” his fiancee says to him one day, chilling in the hovel he calls his apartment and tracing stars in the ceiling. “A house. A kid.”

“Two kids.”

“A boy and girl.” She nods to herself, cupping her chin. “We pile together our savings and raise a family. No more Fixer work. We can just live out our days in peace and quiet.”

“I like the way you think,” he’d said, holding her close and hugging her to his chest.

She’d snuggled against him. “Of course you do, love.”

“Ew.”

“Darling.”

“Eww.”

“Beloved of my life, star of my sky, weapon to my Fixer.”

“Ew stop being so cheesy.”

She snorts at his teasing. “I’m serious about the house and kids though.”

“I know you are.”

“So when should we retire? We’re already kickass Grade 1 Fixers with a salary that exceeds the Nest’s. There’s not much to go from here.”

“Want to retire now then?”

She contemplates. “Let’s find a house first.”

“Then find a house we shall.”

~~~

It isn’t long before the both of them quit their jobs, bowing out of Fixer work in order to live a life for theirselves. They find a house that stands in one of the safest places of the City, tucked into the confines of a Nest they bought their way into and protected by those who dedicated themselves to the City’s safety.

Living in retirement, their lives happy and blissful (the happiest Roland has ever felt in his life, at that), has made Roland feel at peace with the world. There is nothing to fear with his wife by his side, nothing to worry about but what to name their baby when they’re born, and nothing to cry about when he has his wife at his side and a bright future shining right ahead of him.

Then he gets a call. It’s from a friend of his, an old coworker. It’s a job he’s gotta take, one that he doesn’t quite want to do but has an obligation to fulfill. He tells his wife about the job, putting his considerations on the table for why he could or could not go, when she places a hand on his shoulder, her gaze serious.

“If you want to go, go. I’m not stopping you from anything. But,” and here her gaze softens, the gluttony of her stomach showing openly, “you should, you know, probably grab some of that district’s famous pajeon on your way back.”

“Duly noted,” he says with a smile, already gathering his things with approval granted. “I promise I’ll bring it to you fresh and preserved.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Don’t take too long, though. The baby might be born without you.”

He looks at the shape of her belly, placing a gentle hand on the curve of her stomach. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says fondly. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Leaving with a face full of happiness and words full of hope, he shuts the door behind him.

~~~

After a gruesome string of coincidences and a conclusion that had shook Roland whole, he was really looking forward to seeing his wife again.

The work for his friend had been pretty nasty but he understands why his friend had desperately called upon him. The job in question had entailed work only befitting of a Grade 1 Fixer. No other kind of Fixer would’ve been able to handle that kind of work, much less the rest of the Fixers his friend had woefully employed. Still, the after-effects of the mission he was sent upon, the haunting musical notes of something terribly eldritch in nature, send him chasing for the warmth of his wife.

However, upon arriving to his place of dwelling, he comes upon the dawning realization that something is very, _very_ wrong.

The district is torn asunder, ripped apart as if some kind of monster has chewed through its entirety. Buildings are collapsed and a haze of smoke covers the land, haunting and forbidden. There’s signs of an apocalypse within the district’s walls, of something tragic that has come and gone in Roland’s absence. However, he has little time to ponder the possibilities - Nest wars? A fallen Wing? A Star of the City class threat emerging from thin air? - as he scours the streets, adrenaline sending his steps flying through shattered ruins.

 _Where is she?_ Come his tormented thoughts, plagued already by worries of an inevitable future. _Did she make it out? Is she okay? What happened here? No, she’ll tell me what happened here, right?_

He runs and runs and runs, navigating through the debris of broken houses and leaping over broken streetlights in order to make it to the place he holds dear. There are many ideas plaguing his mind, none of which he allow himself to think of in full fruition, before he finds himself standing in front of a building only he and one other know of best.

It’s broken.

His house is broken, shattered by some impossible phenomena, cradled in upon itself and wheezing with punctured lungs. The life that has filled this house - the lights that are always on, the visage of a television visible from the window, the hum of a voice and the clattering of musical windchimes - has all vanished, destroyed by what should’ve been an impossibility as he stumbles upon broken steps.

His voice slips from his throat, calling the name of his wife as he climbs his way to the front door: now a shattered mess of wood caved in upon itself, a line of splintered teeth cut down the middle. He pulls the door aside, cutting away loose ends with his weapon until he can create a hole big enough to crawl inside. He pushes past a narrow hallway of claustrophobic conditions - walls caved in upon each other, dust and rubble staining his work clothes and digging into his palms and knees - before he emerges into what once would’ve been the kitchen.

There, he finds a grotesque sight stretched before him. A familiar figure lies on wooden tiles, splayed outwards with a pool of blood to die her clothes and hair a burning crimson. His breath catches, eyes widening, and for a moment, all he can see is her.

She’s laying there helpless, caught up in the surprise of a moment she didn’t know coming. Her face still shows shock, her arms curled around her belly as if to protect the life form inside. But one of the beams that used to belong to his ceiling have stolen that from her, ripped straight into her body to the point he can feel himself beginning to retch from the sight alone. He turns away, emptying the contents of his stomach, and finds himself falling to his knees as he turns away, the sight too much to bear.

He stays there for a while, somewhere between disbelief and mourning, too numb to cry but too shocked to move away. Then, as if his consciousness has come back to him, realization and revelation hitting him all at once, he bends his head to the ground, fists pounding on broken tiles, a wretched sob resounding from his throat.

“Why…” He cries. “Why them? Why her?”

He cries his eyes out there, sealing them shut with tears, unable to stand the sight of anything any longer.

~~~

Blood covers his hands, his face, his shoes, his outfit.

There is nothing in this world that should be left standing, nothing that should smile and see the light of day when he himself is drowning. Despair clogs up every pore of his, tearing him from the inside out as he shatters whatever he sees. His sword flies through anything and everything but all he can see is red...red...red…

Then, when there is nothing left to slice, when he is soaked from head to toe in blood and chained by the will of the rules, he finds himself falling, tucked into the void of nothingness as his memories of happiness fade away.

~~~~

This world is cruel. Torturous. Evil.

There are many times where Roland thinks this, wandering on streets made of broken pavement and swinging his sword at no-good assaulters. He opens a one-man office, not needing the money but finding no other solace in the world. Fixer life is cold but familiar, an echo of his time with her even though she is now cold and dead, returned to the ground just as any soul is.

He tells himself that she isn’t really gone, sometimes. He tells himself that she’ll be waiting for him at home, their kid in her arms, a smile on her face, but he knows he’s delusional. She’s not going to greet him ever again, she’s not going to cup his face for a kiss or hold him in her arms. She’s not going to whisper his name with a giggle in her breath or tuck a strand of hair behind his ears when it flutters away.

Instead he’s all alone, as he always has been, doing jobs for others while scraping the bottom of the barrel as a low-level fixer. It’s tough getting by, but sticking his sword into someone’s guts is probably the only solace he has left. If he’s not doing some weirdos job of looking for some pack of lost gum or looking for a missing cat up in some trees, he’s contemplating the pitiful meaning of existence and why he’s even still alive.

But then-

But then he’s dragged into the mist by some strange force, spit out into a library whose director tears his limbs apart, forces him to work inside of it, only to come to several set of realizations he was never equipped to handle.

And then…

And then it all ends...but also begins.

~~~

A bouquet.

Roses and violets, combined together.

Pale hands place the mixture on the boundaryline between Ruins and City, freedom and containment, hope and despair. The flowers seem to wilt with realization, fondled by the wind’s curious fingers yet overlooking a scene perhaps one day to be forgotten.

“Love and truth.”

Roland watches as Angela comes to his side, hands clasped in front of her as she stares down at him, watching the way his fingers manuever over soft petals.

“A farewell,” he says, standing to his feet as he leaves the bouquet to rest at the tip of his boots. “For her.”

“The last confession of your love?”

“Perhaps.”

A pause of silence. Roland stares out into the distance, catching the fading shape of buildings enshrouded in hope and despair. There’s a tug in his heart, a lingering rush of things he’d long since repressed, before he inhales sharply, exhales, and then turns to his companion with a sloppy smile.

“Ready to move forward?” He asks.

His companion smiles, nodding her head, before she beckons him onwards, stepping out from the shadow of the City behind them and onto the earth of a civilization long since steeped in magic.

“Let’s go then.” Angela says, taking his hand in hers. “To a new future.”

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I headcanon Roland’s wife as a stoic badass who is stupidly kind and caught onto Roland’s affection for her early on but wanted him to confess first.
> 
> Also me: *writes her as a kind gal who is the optimism to Roland’s cynicism and who probably hit it off with him the moment they met*
> 
> I am,,, bad at keeping my headcanons of Roland’s wife consistent but like,,, tbf I have not a clue of her actual personality or how she fell in love with Roland so I’m just making stuff up as I go. 
> 
> Point is, I think Roland/his wife is cute and even if it’s a ship that’s sunk in canon I hope we get more info on them in the game one day because the way Roland talks about her,,, my heart,,,
> 
> Anyways!!! Giant Angeland fanfic will probs be the next thing I post for this fandom,,, so sorry for the little amount of Angeland content here but I promise I'll make it up soon enough!!


End file.
